Instinct
by FamilyGuyFan2003
Summary: He was hers. Always.


I don't own anything. Not even my soul, I sold that years ago for $3.50 on Ebay.

So yeah, haven't written anything fanfiction wise in a LOOOONG ass time. This one sort of came on me. Oneshot. Or more? Let me know. I would like to turn it into a story, but not sure if I have the time anymore. But, if enough people think it would be worth it, then let me know and I will give it my best shot.

* * *

She felt the drag of her cigarette hit her lungs. The hot, scratchy pain that she had longed for over the past nine months. Sure, she had snuck a few here and there, but the mother superior had done a thorough job of keeping a watchful eye on her lest she do something she might regret later. Then again, regrets were something that seemed to be piling up these days.

She hurt. Badly. Her insides felt as if they had been shredded and she couldn't begin to describe the pain she felt between her legs. The doctors had insisted up until the day that she would feel some pain but that it was nothing to be afraid of. They weren't the only ones lying to her. She never had stitches before and certainly never imagined having them in such a delicate area.

The small bundle moved in the cradle next to her and she looked his way, his small wisp of blond hair making her smile. At least he inherited something from her. She glanced at the grandfather clock across the room, wondering what in the hell had been keeping them. Ever since they made her join the convent back home, their visits had not been that frequent and at times she wondered if they had even forgotten about her. To her dismay, they hadn't.

She rested her forehead on a propped up arm, watching the ashes fall to the table in front of her, her mind reeling over the events that had led to this. Her options were few and none of them seemed pleasant in the least. Her only real chance of salvation was left up to her parents at this point and she couldn't believe that they would be so willing. Her mother had been less than enthusiastic about letting her move back in at all, let alone with an infant son. After all. People talk. People whisper. Hard to marry off a 17 year old daughter who already comes with a child.

No matter what she did in life, her mistakes always seemed to catch up with her. The priest had told her that it was God's way of sending a message. She scoffed at the idea. If this was his way of speaking to his creation, then she wanted little to do with his message.

She turned as the door creaked open. A middle aged couple in well tailored clothing walked in, the man nodding curtly to the nun that had assisted them. She closed the door behind them, leaving them to their personal business.

The woman, tall with graying blond hair stood in stony silence at her offspring, her eyes shifting momentarily to the infant sleeping in its crib. A look of disgust flashed across her face. The man forced a smile towards his long unseen daughter. He pulled a chair away for his wife before speaking.

"Hello Amanda."

"Hi Dad."

The hug was unexpected, but she fell into it despite the pain coming from standing up and sitting back down so quickly. "It's been too long sweetie. We uh, we tried to make it before the birth. But uh-"

"We were not able to pull away. Business to attend to." His wife finished for him, her expression never changing. Amanda wasn't sure if she was capable of it.

She nodded, snuffing the remainder of her cigarette on the table in front of them. A short glare from her mother. "I didn't realize that nuns smoked, Amanda."

"Some do. Most of the priests do."

"I thought we sent you into this lifestyle to keep you from such activities."

She returned the cold expression, shrugging her shoulders. "Can't win them all, _mother_."

The older woman stood with a start, turning to stare at the rain as it hit against the dirty window, frustrated at her daughter's continued hostility towards her. A gray brick tower suddenly visible through the storm. She cringed. Images of slobbering, twitching bodies barely intelligent enough to call human crawling over the naked and abused body of her child. Her daughter.

Her husband, as always, did his best to keep the peace. His voice soft and deceiving. "Look, Amanda. We came to talk this over. I know you've been through a lot. But we want to help. No matter what has happened in the past, we're still your parents."

She remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point, the baby stirring softly as he woke to the increased noise coming from the adults next to him. She resisted her instinct to hold him. To protect him. Her mother moved over to him, her back towards her daughter as she observed her newly created grandson. She reached a hand into the cradle to move the blanket from his face and Amanda squashed the impulse to smack her hand away.

He motioned over to the crib as he continued. "We want to help him too-"

"Frederick." She corrected.

He grimaced. "Yes. Frederick… There's an orphanage up in Detroit. Real nice. They take good care of them; make sure they find real good homes for their children. We think you should consider it."

She again turned to look at the cooing child as it stared into the cold, indifferent eyes of its grandmother. His tiny arms writhing in awkward, short movements. Weak. Innocent. Oblivious to the fact that his entire future was being discussed right next to him.

"I don't want to abandon him." Her voice cracked despite herself. She had told herself that she wasn't going to get emotional in front of them. She had been insistent that she remain steadfast against their pressuring.

Her father cast a glance down to his hands, his fingers moving in barely noticeable nervous ticks as he considered his next words. His foot tapping slightly against the tiled floor. "Well, what did you have in mind?"

She wiped a tear from her face, composing herself. "I want to take care of him."

An audible snort coming from her side. Her mother rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her words short and without compassion. "Please Amanda. You can barely take care of yourself."

Ignoring the attempt to insult her, she stood firm. "He's my child. No one can take care of him like I can. I want to be there for him."

In the long months leading to this day, Amanda would find herself seated for hours in silent contemplation over the choices given to her. Initially, she held little consideration of ever possibly keeping the child. The very idea of her carrying the seed of one of those…creatures had been enough to throw her into fits of rage and despair. Her bouts of depression enough to prevent her from eating for days, wondering if she starved herself long enough if she could miscarry. She never did. As the months went on, something changed. She couldn't quite explain it if she tried. When he was born, she had cried herself to sleep, amazed at the little life that had been growing inside of her.

_Her_ child.

Her father sighed before continuing, exchanging a quick glance with his wife. "We don't think that would be wise, Amanda."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, tiring of this game of mock civility. "Why is that?"

"Well…we think it wouldn't be fair to the rest of the family. Your sister is now married. That nice Douglas boy. You know the one studying to be a doctor? And your brother, well, he's already on the city council. Why he may even run for Mayor in a few short years."

She laughed. The hardest she had laughed in a long time. A cynical, aggravated release. "So what you are saying is that it wouldn't be fair to have a daughter with a bastard child tarnishing the family name."

"We didn't say that."

"Oh no, you didn't have to. Here I was thinking that you might actually be considering something other than yourselves. How foolish of me. You're just here to sweep him under the rug the same way you swept me under the rug."

"It is not our fault you chose to sully your reputation as you did." The shrill, haughty voice broke through. "We were only repairing what you had already damaged."

"By sending me away. Then making some bullshit story about me having a religious epiphany. How many people do you think believed that one, _mother_?"

"And we are having to do it all over again! We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for this…this thing. What are we to tell everyone when you bring home a son conceived in some insane asylum? Are we to tell them that our daughter has a penchant for whoring with the mentally ill?" She spat the words as if they were venom.

"Perhaps if you were not so willing to disregard your own flesh and blood then I would not have been forced to play the whore. Or do you refuse to consider the thought of your own daughter being beaten and raped over your inability to mother."

There was a sadistic tone in her mother's voice. Her words, hardly simply outbursts of frustration, but rather cruel jabs intended to inflict as much pain as was possible. "Perhaps if you had considered your family over your own selfishness then you would have had the consideration to abort this monster before it slithered out of you."

"Veronica!" Her husband snapped, the baby just starting to cry.

She had enough. The pain and shock at her own mother's words glued her to her chair as she stumbled over her words. Slowly she stood, the pain succumbing to the adrenaline coursing through her body. "Whether you ever admit it in public or not, that is my son too. And I don't care who his father is. He is _mine_." She moved closer, her fists clenching so tight that she felt her nails dig into her palms. Her voice low and threatening. "No one is ever going to take him away from me. Especially you."

"Charles! Get her away from me!" Her panic caused her to almost fall over herself as she backed against the wall. Her daughter closing the gap that remained between them.

"Get out."

She watched as the both of them gathered their things, hurrying out the door without another word.

She slumped into the hard wooden chair as they shut the door, the weight of what she had done hanging in her shoulders. Her body shuddered as she sobbed quietly, the desperation of her situation hitting her like a ton of bricks. She had nowhere left to go. She knew nobody outside of the convent. No money. No other family. How could she possibly raise him by herself? She had been depending so much on the hope that maybe, just maybe, her parents would have shown a little compassion.

She was alone, as she had always been.

She turned to comfort the small child still crying by her side. Her child. She smiled against the tears as she held him next to her, his cries slowly fading as he drifted off into sleep, comfortable in her warm embrace. The frailty of his little body overwhelmed her. It no longer mattered to her how he got here. He was hers. He would always be hers.

No matter what.

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**Author's Notes: **Well. Whuddaya think? Let me know and please, please, please review.

Dunno what I was thinking when writing this. I have always been interested in the relationship between Fred and his mother, which the movies don't go into nearly enough. He has such bitter hatred in his body language and voice towards her in the few brief moments they are together in the films. But, I wanted a little more exploration of Amanda's character. I can't imagine she wouldn't give him up if she didn't feel some sort of love for him. Hell, I would still love MY son if he was evil. Pffft. Who am I kidding with "if"? If he's mine, then of course he is evil.


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